


Everybody Loves Hot Rod

by Sophisticated_Adult



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, The title is literal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 03:22:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophisticated_Adult/pseuds/Sophisticated_Adult
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you do with an ex-Prime? It seems most of the Autobots have a good idea, but they're at a stalemate. It's up to Hot Rod to take the decision into his own hands, but he's never been great at forward planning...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"First Aid, is there something wrong with me?”

"How so, Ro – ah, Hot Rod?” First Aid mentally cursed as he tripped over the name. He'd gotten used to Rodimus, and then Optimus came back.

Hot Rod shifted on his berth in the med-bay. “Well, people keep staring at me in the halls. It's starting to freak me out.”

“That's it?”

“I don't have any proof, but I think I might be getting pranked. Like, hacking into my systems so I'd broadcast weird messages to everyone without me knowing it.”

“...that's a very elaborate prank. It's not the twins' style.”

“No, but it's good, right? I just need to know what it is so I can start finding out who did it.”

“Hot Rod, you're not broadcasting any messages,” the medic sighed. “And if you are then I've been cut out as well.”

“Oh.” Hot Rod's face fell and First Aid felt like a monster for disappointing him. “But it was such a good explanation! Aw, I really wanted to know how they did it.”

“Maybe it's something else,” First Aid said kindly. “Have you had any upgrades?”

“Aside from not being Prime? Nope.”

 _That's not an upgrade_ , he wanted to say, but First Aid kept his mouth shut. Absolutely nobody had the right to correct those words when they came from Hot Rod.

“Is there any pattern to it? Anything you may be doing to cause it?”

“No!” Hot Rod wailed. “I just walk down the hall and it's like I'm on display! _Hey everyone, look at this jerk, but don't actually do anything! That would make sense!_ ”

“Well, you're very, er, eye-catching,” First Aid offered, spark pulsing in alarm over his patient's sudden distress. “How long has this been going on?”

“Ever since I gave back the Matrix.” Hot Rod sighed and slumped back (somewhere in First Aid this caused a jolt of protectiveness, a desire to comfort and soothe, and he only partially ignored it). “At first I just thought it was the guys who came back – you know, Ironhide and Prowl and so on -” _and Ratchet_ went unsaid and First Aid was sure he'd been left out on purpose, as that was the sort of thoughtful act you would expect from the mech who'd once been Rodimus Prime - “being all 'get a load of this kid, he was the Prime?' but then it kept happening and then I started looking for it and fragging everyone does it!”

First Aid felt the guilt gnaw at his spark; he might have sneaked one or two looks himself. He hadn't been lying earlier - Hot Rod was _very_ eye-catching indeed. “Everyone?” He managed, hoping (for once) the smaller mech _hadn't_ noticed him.

“Well, not everyone, thank Primus,” Hot Rod admitted. “There's Optimus – obviously, he's not gonna look at me twice – then Magnus, Arcee, Kup, Springer and Blurr. They're too used to me, I guess.”

First Aid 'hmm'd in thought. 'The simplest explanation is often correct' was a phrase Ratchet had once threatened his medics with digging out their sparks with a rusty spoon if they took it seriously, but, well, he couldn't help but think that Hot Rod was over-reacting and had worked himself up about it without telling anyone until it was this huge awful thing he couldn't bear any more, a trait he'd unfortunately inherited from Rodimus.

“Have you ever considered the fact that you are very attractive?”

Hot Rod folded his arms and glared, not even bothering to dignify that with a response. Despite the clear warning sign, First Aid soldiered on.

“And you were once Prime, to boot! That's a very good package, it's no wonder people are interested. They wouldn't have dreamed of it when you were Prime – well, they might have, but you know what I mean, they wouldn't have done anything. But now, well, you're...” First Aid shrugged. “Available. I would make the most of it if I were you.”

“You would, eh? I didn't know you were like that, First Aid,” Hot Rod teased, and the medic felt his cheeks burn hot.

“W-well, I'm not very interesting, am I? Not as much as you.” First Aid felt himself heat up from the embarrassment of the sudden shyness he felt, looking at Hot Rod. No-one would _ever_ look at him the way they would look at the ex-Prime. He was...wonderful. He was attractive and cute and brightly-coloured and there was a tremendous well of strength hidden by that slight frame. You would have to coax him into believing it was there in the first place, another legacy from his brief time as leader of the Autobots, but everyone else knew it was there. It made a huge amount of sense that they had dared to harbour the crazy, impossible hope: maybe Hot Rod would choose _them_.

“Aw, don't say that, First Aid! You are interesting! I mean, here you are trying to solve all my problems and I'm just being a whiny narcissist.” Hot Rod grinned. “Seriously, thanks. I owe you one.” He patted First Aid's unresponsive hand, hopped off the berth and headed out of the med-bay with a much jauntier step than he'd entered with, privately deciding that he was just going to march up and kiss the first 'bot he caught staring.

“You're welcome,” First Aid mumbled, long after he'd left.

 ---

Five minutes later Jazz had no idea what he'd done to make the little fireball of a mech pick _him_ , but he sure as slag wasn't complaining.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was not going to continue this. I seriously was not going to continue this. It was going to be a silly self-indulgent one-shot because Hot Rod is My Favourite, but then I got encouragement and this happened. Thanks/blame for all who left comments and kudos!

Jazz was idly minding his own business when he was accosted by a very upset Sunstreaker.

“What the frag, Jazz?!”

“Somethin' wrong?” he asked smoothly, turning to face the irate twin – no Sideswipe, interestingly enough. They were both brash and arrogant, but Sideswipe was slightly less brash and arrogant and probably had enough sense not to explode at Jazz in the middle of the hallway.

“You're not supposed to actually frag him,” Sunstreaker snarled in a low voice – not that there was anyone about. He was at least smart enough to launch his attack when there would be no witnesses aside from the security cameras. Or very, very stupid, considering that his target was Jazz. “That's not _fair_.” True, there had been an unspoken and uneasy rule among the Autobots when it came to their new fascination with Hot Rod – look but for the love of Primus don't touch or you'll cause a riot, no matter how much it would be fragging worth it. Jazz was honestly surprised it had taken this long for the fallout to hit.

“Hey, he came on to me,” Jazz said defensively, hands open palm-first in the very picture of 'who, me?' innocence. “Who am I to deny that sweet thing anything he wants? I got the recording if you want proof,” he added with a wicked smirk. It was a low blow but Sunstreaker was going to do or had done something to deserve it anyway, so he didn't feel too bad about it. The twin glared at him, smouldering in his gold armour. Nice. He appreciated a good smoulder.

“Frag off!” Sunstreaker shoved Jazz aside. “You probably tampered with it. Don't think you've won!” The last words were a parting shot as the twin stalked down the hall, likely already forming plans. Jazz just shook his head and chuckled, wondering if he should warn Hot Rod or if it would be more entertaining to watch from the sidelines.

He hadn't meant to cause a civil war, but if Sunstreaker actually made a move then things were going to get very interesting indeed.

\---

Not too long after Sunstreaker's angry departure, Jazz got a comm. from Optimus asking to see him in his office. Now, that didn't necessarily mean anything. It might not even have been Sunstreaker, but someone else who'd been silently watching along with the rest of the Autobots and then got pissed when it turned out that Jazz was the winner. And if he was going to get chewed out because some jealous mech had reported him, well, as far as Jazz was concerned he'd done nothing wrong and no mech in his position would have done anything different. So there.

Hot Rod had been very insistent.

Or, of course, it could be something completely different, some totally innocent reason that Optimus wanted him in his office ASAP. But Jazz had a feeling, the sneaky little kind that meant he was damn well on to something. He would actually bet credits that someone, somewhere, had fired the first volleys.

The poor saps didn't have any idea of what they were even aiming at. This almost seemed unfair, really. No...it probably wasn't Sunstreaker. Aside from the remarkable quickness it had taken from his departure to the ping from Optimus, it just wasn't the twins' style to bring in the higher-ups to do their dirty work for them. If Sunstreaker or Sideswipe were going to get back at you then you would damn well know it was them, all the better to gloat at you with. Still, Jazz couldn't help but file Sideswipe away into the 'look into later' folder, seeing how riled up Sunstreaker had been – was it shared, or was Sideswipe letting his idiot brother play with fire?

His grin smoothed into the neutral expression of an orderly and important third-in-command as he knocked and sent a quick ping at the same time. The quick 'come in' reply came almost an astrosecond later, and Jazz pushed open the door.

"Y'wanted ta see me?" he asked, smooth easiness in his tone even though he was 97.8% sure he was about to get the Optimus equivalent of a dressing-down: a disappointed sigh and a Look in his optics that said 'I know you can do better' that those without petrified sparks would trip over themselves to prove to him that yes, they could. Jazz was sure-footed, but no-one could resist The Look.

"Jazz." Optimus greeted, and Primus, it was so slagging good to hear his voice again. An odd guilt washed over the saboteur at that thought, but he quickly clamped down on it. All things considered, Rodimus had frankly done an amazing job, but he just couldn't be Optimus Prime. He was cuter as Hot Rod, anyway.

"I'd just like to speak to you regarding your actions the other orn."

Right. As he slipped into the chair across from Optimus the only outward expression on Jazz's face was the tiniest hints of a mouth upturning into a grin. Someone had definitely pulled the trigger, and now all bets were off.

"Ah, I do a lot of actions, Optimus," he said demurely, crossing his legs and leaning forward on to the desk. "You might need to remind me. Which ones are we talking about?" He let his face break into a bright smile because now he was dancing, if only to try and make Optimus come out and say "Don't frag the ex-Prime."

But he got upstaged when Optimus asked, point-blank: "Are you going to hold on to him?"

And now suddenly he wasn't so sure. What was that look in those steady optics? Was - Primus - was Optimus himself interested in Hot Rod? What was the answer that he wanted? _Warning! Tread carefully! And keep hold of that mental image for later. Yowza._

"That depends on him." Jazz was aware that under that particular gaze his nonchalance was useless, so he just shrugged and didn't bother with it. Open honesty. Who wanted to lie to Optimus Prime? Not little old Jazz, no sir. Anyway, he hadn't even spoken to Hot Rod after they'd parted ways. For all Jazz knew he'd been a slagging great one-night stand, which he was mostly okay with. But he wouldn't say no to round two. "He wants it, he's got it." Truth, in the smallest form he could give. You had to keep some secrets.

"I see." Optimus steepled his fingers and made his optics that little more unreadable. Jazz let himself be impressed, because did he think he was good at concealment? He had slagging nothing on the master.

"I would merely like to remind you, Jazz, that he has suffered greatly. No mech deserves happiness more than he does." The slight tensing of his frame was all Jazz showed of his surprise at the high, high praise coming from Optimus Prime himself. Yeah, they'd all had it in their heads that here was a mech who'd once been Prime suddenly roaming the halls as a normal 'bot again, but how many had actually stopped to think about that beyond the general 'oh yeah, that'd be fragging great'? Jazz nodded faintly. Were they all selfish monsters hoping for a quick frag or had that just been him? He had no fragging excuse, he'd damn well been right there to watch Rodimus try to hold his own against the universe.

"And," Optimus continued, "Galvatron is still interested in him." Ah, yes. Of course. Dear old Galvatron either hadn't gotten the memo or was purposefully ignoring the fact that Hot Rod was, well, Hot Rod. So far he'd barely even acknowledged Optimus' existence. In the increasingly rare battles they'd had since the return of the old Autobots, a special eye had to be kept on Hot Rod since he was the only Prime Galvatron would accept as a nemesis. It was sort of understandable if you knew what he was like (obsessive and narrow-minded with no room for a new enemy when he hadn't even crushed his old one beneath his feet yet) but Pits if it hadn't ticked off the Autobots who didn't. Aside from Optimus himself, oddly enough. He bore it with quiet good grace and always made sure Hot Rod's back was covered. Besides, an enemy who wasn't paying attention to you offered many wonderful and exciting opportunities. There was a running bet on how long it would take Optimus to _make_ Galvatron notice him through some unspeakable act of pure awesome. Jazz had put himself down on 'never, unless someone's going to die if he doesn't.' As fun as it was to imagine, Optimus was neither stupid nor a show-off.

Jazz made a non-committal 'mm-hmm' noise. "Well," he said, "Galvatron hardly has a claim on him." Oh dear, that was the wrong thing to say because Optimus' optic ridge rose just the slightest fraction, a derisive snort of laughter for a normal mech. “You think he does?” Jazz asked, genuinely interested. Sure, Galvatron was an obsessive weirdo Decepticon. That didn't mean anything.

“I am far from an expert on Galvatron's thoughts. But I would be surprised if he did not think he was entitled to Rodimus.”

Now that. That was very, very interesting. Jazz immediately saved it in the separate folder he'd set up for this whole weird _thing_ with Hot Rod. Or...Rodimus, apparently. While he was at it, he saved a recording of the 'no mech deserves happiness more than he does' line as well in Optimus' sub-folder. This was starting to get _fun_. Jazz could feel the excitement building, a slow but not unpleasant burn in his circuits. If they wanted to tango, they had to know who they were dealing with. He wasn't just gonna roll over like a good Autobot who'd already had his turn.

He was going to _win_.

...assuming Hot Rod still wanted him, of course.

“I'll keep a note of that,” he said cheerily. Who the slag cared about Galvatron? Here was some much more direct competition. Not that he didn't love and respect his Prime, not that Optimus didn't deserve happiness just as much as Hot Rod. But he wasn't going to just let go.

“Hm.” Optimus chuckled, then grew serious again. “I don't want to see anyone hurt over this, Jazz. Him least of all.”

“Gotcha.” Loud and clear: please don't do anything stupid. It may well have already been too late for that. “Believe me, Optimus, that's the last thing I want.”

Truth. But if someone stuck their hand in the fire, you could hardly blame Jazz.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hi, Prowl." 

The tactician nodded as Hot Rod let himself into his office, one optic ridge raised. Of course, the younger mech still had the override codes from his time as Prime and Optimus hadn't seen the need to change them. Even Prowl was forced to admit that Hot Rod no longer seemed to be the wayward lost cause he'd known before...well. Before. 

"One moment, please," he said, flicking his attention back to Ironhide's report. Hot Rod nodded and settled down in the chair across his desk. Prowl tried not to stare. He'd caught himself at it once or twice, and had been very annoyed with himself for it. The last thing Hot Rod needed was being ogled at. But it was still hard to accept that this had been the Matrix's choice, even after Prowl had looked up footage of Rodimus Prime to assure himself that it wasn't a particularly elaborate and ambitious prank. He finished Ironhide's report, nodded to himself that it was satisfactory, signed it and neatly placed the data pad in the 'out' tray. Then, for the first time since his entrance, Prowl fixed his full attention on Hot Rod, not failing to notice that the other mech had waited quietly and patiently for him to finish instead of causing a fuss about the report. 

"OK," Hot Rod said, straightening up under his gaze. "Where were we last time?"

"I've drawn up another plan in light of the battle two weeks ago," Prowl said, bringing out the data pad he'd prepared for this last week. "It will be easier to discuss Galvatron's movements now that we're properly recording everything." Hot Rod shrugged, some of his old impudence showing through: _I didn't need to record battles when I was Prime._ "Sure."

The Decepticons had not been as lucky as the Autobots in regaining their fallen warriors. Instead of Megatron there was now Galvatron, who - as Jazz had tried to explain to him more than once - had rather different priorities. Instead, Prowl turned to their resident Galvatron expert in small one-on-one sessions where they discussed tactics and drew up plans and Prowl could try to fill in the rather large gap in his knowledge thanks to his...absence. 

He still didn't like to think about it.

However, it did give him an opportunity to study and get to know this new, responsible Hot Rod, a bonus he hadn't anticipated at the time. 

"Galvatron is here," Prowl said, pointing to the large purple G that signified the Decepticon leader on the simple diagram. "Flanked by Scourge and Cyclonus. We think Soundwave may have also been present, but we weren't able to confirm it. The Autobots are over this hill, consisting of Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Hound and Springer."

"What?" Hot Rod's optics flared in surprise. "No-one told me Springer was there!"

"You were on monitor duty at the time," Prowl tried to mollify him, noting internally that it was rather unpleasant to see Hot Rod distressed like this in a way that it hadn't been before. "He probably assumed you knew."

"I knew he was on patrol with Hound, not that he teamed up with the twins to - you know what, we're getting off track. You said we have a recording?"

"Yes, once we became aware that Galvatron was involved I requested all four of them to record as much as possible," Prowl explained, silently impressed that it was Hot Rod and not himself steering the meeting back on course. "I think it may have gone to Sunstreaker's head, but we still have excellent footage."

Hot Rod sat back and folded his arms, his grim smile looking out of place on his youthful features. "I bet he went straight for Springer."

Prowl nodded. No need to ask who _he_ was.

"When Springer took to the air and Galvatron became aware of his presence-" 

Hot Rod gave a sudden, harsh intake of air. "He tried flying? Against Scourge and Cyclonus?"

"If you wish to review the recording-"

"No, no, I believe you. Stupid fragger that he is," Hot Rod muttered. It looked as though Springer was going to get a lecture later on, and Prowl could only dearly wish he would have the opportunity to witness Hot Rod of all mechs telling someone off for being reckless in battle.

"Anyway...Galvatron disengaged from Hound and fired on Springer. Luckily, Scourge and Cyclonus were both dealing with the twins at the time, so he didn't take too much damage."

"I knew it," Hot Rod muttered darkly, shaking his head. "Springer was the next best thing," he explained, seeing Prowl's quizzical expression. "Have you noticed? If I'm not around, he'll go after Magnus. Or Kup. Or-"

"Springer," Prowl finished, and got a silent nod in return. He could believe that. There had been one such incident where Scourge had managed to flush out Kup and Bluestreak from their position, and Galvatron had ignored Ironhide to go after Kup instead. It had made no sense, putting himself in point-blank range of Bluestreak and turning his back on Ironhide. Neither mech had wasted the chance. 

"He doesn't seem to actually care about winning," Prowl said, frowning. "Just...making a statement? Trying to prove something?"

"A bit of both, I think," Hot Rod mused. "Trying to get things back to how they were." 

Prowl didn't think he'd ever understand this new enemy. At least Megatron's actions made sense, mostly. He had a clear goal. You knew where you stood with Megatron. On the other side of his fusion cannon, yes, but at least he understood things like 'logic' and 'tactics' and 'Optimus Prime exists and is right there and perhaps you should do something about that.' Galvatron would throw himself at a wall of Autobots if Hot Rod was behind them, and completely ignore that same wall if he wasn't. It was vexing. Not to mention the burden on Hot Rod, who had gone from being able to go toe-to-toe with his enemy to quickly getting overwhelmed if he didn't get backup.

"What if Springer wasn't there?" Prowl asked, trying to get back to the matter at hand. "Let's say instead that it was Hound and Mirage. What does Galvatron do?"

"Go for the twins," Hot Rod replied promptly. "General rule is that he ignores anyone who got revived. So if he has a choice between you or Jazz, he'll pick Jazz, even if it seems like a weird choice to make, like if you were right in front of him and Jazz was under cover and had Omega Supreme backing him up. It makes sense to him."

"I suppose that's what's important." Prowl nodded, filing away that little rule. He knew Galvatron was ignoring Optimus, but that had been attributed to his refusal to accept another Prime. No-one else had noticed that it was part of a bigger picture of Autobots that Galvatron would prefer not to exist.

"This has been very helpful, Hot Rod. Thank you."

"No problem." Hot Rod smiled a real, genuine smile, quite rare these days (since when had he been keeping track?) - and was that his spark fluttering at the sight? No, Prowl decided, it couldn't be. 

That would be foolish.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I've been sitting on the first part of this since....March. Also it's trying to become an Actual Thing instead of just me flailing about how Hot Rod's the best. I guess that's progress???

Hot Rod stopped outside the rec room and took a few cycles of air to ready himself. Springer was in there, but so were other Autobots who were going to stare no matter what he did. The night with Jazz had been great, but they hadn't seen each other since so he hadn't been able to see if his plan had worked - frag them, give them exactly what they wanted, and hope that was enough. It probably wasn't the best long-term solution, anyway, since he didn't really want to sleep with the entire base.  
  
He squared his shoulders and walked in, optics fixed straight ahead. He took measured strides and tried to ignore the looks he was getting. Most turned away, but Bumblebee and Bluestreak had stopped mid-conversation and weren't even trying to hide it.  
  
He nearly faltered mid-step when he actually looked at who the other mech at Springer's table was.  
  
Jazz.  
  
Oh, boy.  
  
 _Okay, focus_ , he told himself. _You're mad at Springer. Be awkward with Jazz later._  
  
And since when did those two hang out, anyway?  
  
"Hey, guys," Hot Rod said, slipping into the empty seat across from them.  
  
"Hey yourself," Springer replied before taking a swig of energon. Jazz's head whipped to look at him way too fast, and he practically lit up when he saw that it really was Hot Rod.  
  
"Just the mech I wanted to see!" He said cheerfully. "How are ya, Roddy? Can I call you Roddy?"  
  
"Sure." Hot Rod shrugged. "Listen, do you mind talking later? I really need to speak to Springer." Said triple-changer glanced up at him, mildly surprised.  
  
"Sure thing." Jazz agreed. He hid his disappointment - he really did desperately need to have a little chat with Hot Rod before everyone started making their moves - but he wasn't going to be a jerk about it. "Think I'll go bug Ratchet, poor guy all by himself." He stood up, nodded at Springer, and clapped a hand on Hot Rod's shoulder. Jazz leaned forward and was suddenly aware of many pairs of optics watching them, and briefly wondered if this was what it was like for Hot Rod _all the time_. "We really do need to talk," Jazz murmured into Hot Rod's audial. Then he headed off to Ratchet's table and took the time to wink his visor at Sunstreaker, sitting there with his arms crossed and glaring like a sparkling forced to share his favourite toy.  
  
"So you wanna talk?" Springer asked, absently fiddling with his empty energon cube.  
  
"Yeah." Hot Rod shifted his chair closer. "I just had a talk with Prowl. You know, the whole Galvatron thing."  
  
Springer grunted, easily translated as a non-commital 'okay'.  
  
"He said something very interesting. About your patrol. Two weeks ago? With Sunstreaker?" Hot Rod leaned forward, right into Springer's personal space, and this time Springer finally looked up at him.  
  
"Okay, what?" Springer scowled, leaning away. Their rapt audience, consisting of most of the mechs in the room, were treated to Hot Rod getting up front and personal with the much larger triple-changer not even trying to claim back his lost ground.  
  
“You could have fragging told me!” It was a sign of how far he'd come that Roddy wasn't intentionally making a scene, but that didn't make it any better for Springer.  
  
“'Kay, I think we need to take this outside. 'Scuse us, folks.” Springer stood up and strode out, just as you please, followed out by his uncharacteristically grim-faced friend. There were a few more silent kliks before those in the rec room let out a collective breath.  
  
“Well,” said Ratchet. “Good to see the kid's as determined as ever.”  
  
Jazz laughed a little too much and immediately wondered if he'd overdone it, but frag it. It was Ratchet. He still had the thought lurking in the back of his processor that he would wake up and find out that it was all some wonderful dream and that they were all gone, Ratchet and Prowl and Optimus and all the others were still dead and the universe still expected far too much from a kid who'd happened to be in the right place at the right time. This was more than he'd ever dared hope for, and it still didn't feel fully real to step into Prowl's office and see him right there doing his eternal paperwork.  
  
“Hell of a guy,” Jazz said, shaking his head. “Dunno where the frag he came from, but he really came through for us.”  
  
“Mmm. I have to agree with you there. I don't think the Matrix would have picked an idiot child just to get away from Galvatron.”  
  
“I don't think he's ever really been an idiot,” Jazz countered easily, ready to defend his once-Prime. “He's no genius, but even Prowl is having his little strategy meetings with him. That has to say something.”  
  
“Says Prowl is failing desperately for information. No, no, I'm joking. Mostly. But you should see your face.” Ratchet chuckled. Jazz instantly cut off the argument he was about to make, conceding that he'd been outplayed.  
  
“Sneaky fragger.”  
  
“Seems to me you're getting rusty.” Ratchet took a well-earned swig of victory energon. “Or attached.”  
  
“The second one.” It was no secret. The entire Autobot forces knew pretty much immediately. It wasn't like Hot Rod had been very discreet when he'd dragged him into the nearest empty room, which happened to be the conference room usually reserved for meetings with visiting ambassadors from other species. Jazz would remember those tables fondly.  
  
Ratchet let out a sound that was a cross between a laugh and a sigh. “Things really have changed if you're being straight with me instead of dancing around and playing the fool. I can't decide if it's impressive or depressing.”  
  
“Now that I can't help you with.” A message hit Jazz's inbox marked with high urgency. He didn't even need to click into it; the title was enough. “Gotta go, Ratch. Boss bot's calling.” Ratchet raised an optic ridge, but didn't say anything as Jazz pushed himself up. “You hang in there, yeah? Let off some steam, if you catch my drift.”  
  
Ratchet snorted. “You younglings think everything can be solved by fragging,” he groused. Jazz couldn't help laughing at that. Oh, he really had no idea.  
  
“Nah. Think I've just made things more complicated. Go ask Sunstreaker what he thinks about me.”  
  
The medic's optics narrowed in suspicion, and too late did Jazz realise his mistake.  
  
“What's he got to do with it?”  
  
Whoops. Looks like he'd just accidentally set the Hatchet on Sunny, and no-one in the world would believe he hadn't intended for it to happen. Well, if there was an Autobot who deserved it...  
  
“I really gotta go, Ratch. Don't wanna keep Optimus waiting, you know.” Ratchet waved him off irritably as Jazz made his escape. That little conversation was going on his list of Things I've Royally Fragged Up, but it could be worried about later. Ratchet scolded the twins all the time. No reason to link it back to Jazz, really. It wasn't like he'd meant it to happen.  
  
Safely out in the corridor, Jazz took the opportunity to check the message from Optimus more thoroughly, but it just said 'Officer meeting ASAP' and listed Prime's office as the location. If he was being this short on detail, it probably was a pretty big deal. Optimus liked his meetings to be efficient, with every attendee briefed beforehand and knowing at least a rough idea of what needed to be covered and what to take actions on.  
  
Not only that, but emergency meetings were rare these days. The war could barely be called that. It was purely a case of Galvatron's sheer stubbornness and his refusal to see that the rest of the Decepticon's sparks just weren't in it any more. The majority just wanted to go home to Cybertron, but it was hard to do that when both sides would brand you a traitor.  
  
“It's just getting stupid,” Bumblebee had once complained. “Give Galvatron five minutes with Roddy and they'll sort something out.”  
  
Jazz could see where he was coming from, but he wasn't so sure himself that he wanted Galvatron anywhere near Hot Rod. It wouldn't surprise him if even the big G had no idea what he actually wanted with his once-nemesis if he ever got his claws on him. Acknowledgement? A personal frag-toy? His head mounted on a wall? Whatever it was, it wasn't hard to see why the rest of the Autobots weren't exactly willing to just give Galvatron what he wanted. That wasn't how life worked.  
  
“Jazz.”  
  
So consumed with thought, he nearly walked right past Prowl, who happened to be going in the same direction. Officer meeting. Right.  
  
Today must be an off-day, or something.  
  
“'Sup, Prowlie,” he replied, managing to summon up the big grin he kept reserved just for Prowl. “You get called out too?” There wasn't even the tiniest flicker of disgust at the improper grammar. Oh, Prowl, how far you've come. He still wasn't much of a talker, just nodding his head as a reply, but that was okay. Jazz could definitely talk enough for two, even when he was off his game.  
  
The reason for Optimus' urgent message became clear as crystal when they reached his office. (Twice in as many days, Jazz thought. It wasn't even as if Optimus had been back all that long). Ironhide was standing by impatiently.  Optimus was facing the big vid-screen Rodimus had installed, which was currently showing a Decepticon.  
  
It was Brawl, to be precise. But it looked like someone had muted the sound, since he was arguing with someone off-screen and nothing was coming out.  
  
“As you can see, we have a rather interesting call,” Optimus said wryly as Prowl shut the door behind them. Brawl, of all people, meant the other Combaticons probably weren't far behind, but without any further information thanks to the cut sound – yeah, there we go. Brawl was shoved gracelessly away, replaced by an apologetic looking Swindle. The smallest Combaticon reached forward to fiddle with something on his side of the vid-screen, and the sound came back on.  
  
“I'm sorry you had to see that, Prime. Autobots,” Swindle added, nodding at the officers surrounding their leader. He looked the part, but he sounded more annoyed than he was sorry.  
  
“No matter.” Optimus waved him off. In lieu of an incredulous optic ridge to raise, Jazz's visor flickered to a subtly darker shade of blue. Prowl, at least, would pick up on it. Were they really going to negotiate over anything at all with Swindle? That was...generally not the best idea.  
  
Guy's name was Swindle, for frag's sake.  
  
“Well,” Swindle said, settling back into whatever passed as normal for him. “This is a friendly call, really. We just want to let you know that we're three days out from Cybertron and would rather not get shot down. See, we worked something out,” he carried on before the multiple objections could stop him in his tracks. “Galvatron isn't Megatron, and we don't have to do slag when it comes to him.”  
  
“You're defecting?” Prowl asked immediately. Jazz, for his part, thought it a little worrying that (presumably) the Combaticons hadn't contacted them until now. They must have been pretty confident they could at least land without getting shot to pieces.  
  
In all honesty, they were probably right.  
  
“We're getting away from Galvatron,” another voice said, and Swindle was joined on-screen by Onslaught. “Call that what you will, Prime, but we won't be Autobots.”  
  
“Yeah, but are you still Decepticons?” Ironhide challenged. “Even if you ain't, you've still got a lot to answer for.”  
  
Swindle shrugged, Onslaught glowering over him. “Better to be a prisoner on Cybertron than free on Chaar. We know when enough's enough.”  
  
Fair enough, if still highly, highly suspicious coming from Swindle. Jazz wondered if there had been an incident, or if the Combaticons had simply upped and left just like that when they had their little epiphany.  
  
“How many are with you?” Prowl asked, mostly for completeness' sake. No point taking chances.  
  
“Well, you've seen us, Autobots. That leaves Vortex and Blast Off. It's just us.” Optimus nodded. Aghast, Ironhide turned to him. “You're not seriously considering it!”  
  
“I'm considering that if the Decepticons see them be successful, they will also start to leave Galvatron's side. He doesn't have the same hold over them Megatron did.”  
  
Onslaught snorted. “You've got that right, Prime. He's got his two cronies, the Sweeps, Soundwave, and that's about it.”  
  
“I would still like to discuss this with my officers before I make a decision. You'll be given clearance to land, but you'll be taken into custody. If you still wish to come to Cybertron, that is what awaits.”  
  
“We'll think about it, Prime.” Onslaught reached out, and the screen went black.  
  
\---  
  
Of course the Combaticons landed three days later, right on time, and were immediately taken to the brig under Ironhide's mistrustful optics. In the meantime, Jazz had other things to worry about, like Sunstreaker. He didn't know if Ratchet had gone off on the guy or not, but three days of absolutely nothing was starting to make him think the more unholy half of the Autobot twins was planning something big. This must be what Red Alert felt like all the time, where no news was the worst news possible. At least when you knew what was going on, you knew what you could expect and could plan for it. Jazz was in the dark, didn't have any clues, and was feeling a lot more sympathetic about all of Red's cameras. He was pretty sure Sunstreaker was avoiding him, always a bad sign.  
  
Sideswipe didn't seem to be any more different than usual. Either he wasn't in on it, or he was putting on a very good act. Once you fell foul of the twins you would know, but Sides wasn't giving anything away. Jazz had started checking his berth and his ceiling – people always forgot the ceiling – each night, as well as running quick analysis reports on the energon he drank. There was no harm in preparing yourself against the inevitable.  
  
“Hey, Jazz! Hold up!”  
  
He did, because suddenly he was reminded that it was all worth it when he saw Hot Rod jogging up to him. “I know you said you wanted to speak before. I mean, I kind of got caught up in things, I'm sorry about that, but I'm here now if you've got time.”  
  
“I've always got time for you, Roddy.” Jazz grinned and slung his arm around the shorter mech's shoulders. Wasn't this all nice and companionable, like they were actually a couple or something. “Think the conference room's free?”  
  
It was disappointing when, instead of his cheeks colouring with a blush at the obvious innuendo, Hot Rod gave him a sharp look instead. “Is that what this is about? I mean, sure, but you sounded like you needed something.”  
  
Well, look at him getting put in his place by a youngster, if you could even apply that word to Hot Rod any more. Jazz was already in the camp that said you couldn't, not really, so that made it a little better at least.  
  
“Somewhere else, then, if you want,” Jazz assured him. “No need to rush. We can just talk.”  
  
“Okay, then.” Hot Rod didn't look convinced. Only now did Jazz start to think that maybe he'd miscalculated, that it really had just been a one-time fling and he'd been the luckiest mech on Cybertron. If that was the case, there was no harm in confirming it, just so it didn't stretch on any longer than it already had.  
  
Jazz actually did have an office, one he used so rarely it was starting to gather dust. He wasn't an office mech, but it did come in handy now that only Red Alert could snoop in on them. He hadn't been here in a while, so the cameras had probably been replaced by now and Jazz didn't have time to root them out right this second. Oh well. Best not to say anything incriminating, then.  
  
“I appreciate you actually coming to see me, Roddy.” Jazz smiled. “Makes a mech feel important.”  
  
“Okay,” Hot Rod said, finishing his look around the least-used Autobot office and turning to Jazz. “So what do you want to talk to me about? It sounded pretty important.”  
  
To some mechs, yes, it kind of was.  
  
“Well,” Jazz said, running options for what he could say and discarding most of them as soon as they ran by in his head– this sounded too fake, that was sort of badly phrased and came of as a little creepy. He'd been caught a little out of sorts, but that made it more fun, didn't it? They were playing on equal turf.  
  
“We kind of rushed things back there, right? What do you say we...take things more slowly?”  
  
Hot Rod blinked. This obviously wasn't what he'd been expecting.  
  
“Are you asking me to date you?”  
  
“I guess I am, if you'll have me.” Jazz spread his arms wide over the empty office. “All this could be yours!” Hot Rod smiled at that. Good sign. Jazz wasn't bigging himself up, making him seem desperate. Just the truth: I like you, and I hope you like me given what went on a couple days ago. You in for more?  
  
“I dunno.” Hot Rod shifted, and Jazz tried to guess what he was thinking. Was he aware of the silent politics that had sprung up around him? There was no way he hadn't noticed it. If nothing else, Sunstreaker's sulking at Jazz had to be some hint that all was not well on Cybertron.  
  
"I'll think about it."  
  
Well, it wasn't a no.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starscream is a thing now, I guess, but him and Roddy hanging out post-series is one of my favourite things so there. Also, Obligatory Galvatron (because I can't _not_ have Galvatron).

Sunstreaker continued to not do anything. Maybe it really was all in Jazz's head.

This was impressive stuff, then. It had been a while since he'd been properly paranoid.

Didn't mean he was gonna back off, though, because had Sunstreaker been invited to go fishing with Hot Rod?

The Pits he had, Jazz thought happily. He hadn't the faintest idea of how fishing worked beyond the basic general idea, but that sure as hell wasn't a reason to turn down the offer.

He hadn't been expecting their diminutive companion - not at all, in fact, and Daniel Witwicky's presence caused Jazz to quietly review the four-hour playlist he'd built up last night composed of alternating cheesy love songs and wailing guitars. Regretfully, he cut it down to half its size. Some things just wouldn't survive the company of a third person, no matter how much it felt like it ought to work.

The rock and metal was pretty safe, though.

It did make him feel a bit better that Danny obviously hadn't been expecting someone else, either.

"Jazz?" The human asked, all grown up and in college. Barely a quarter of a vorn since Danny had been a major source of mixed fascination and terror for the Autobots - the consequences of accidentally stepping on or otherwise squashing the then-child had preyed on the minds of enough that they'd stayed away, and seriously missed out. Jazz had been happy to babysit when Hot Rod, or his friends, weren't around and there was no-one to supervise the Dinobots, Danny's second pick for his favourite Autobots. So once, then, because those that hadn't been repelled by the tiny human's frailty had been utterly won over, and Danny had never wanted for Cybertronian company.

"'Sup," Jazz replied, waving a laconic arm and wearing an easy grin. "Hope you don't mind me barging in."

"Uh...sure." Danny's eyes flicked to Hot Rod, full of questions, and the mech in question merely smiled back, optics glinting with something that only ignited when he was in this place, with this human. After a moment, Danny shrugged and turned to the lake. "You're way cooler than Starscream, anyway."

"Sure am." Was that really the first comparison Danny could come up with? That was just sad. Still, he could take it in stride. Hot Rod was one of the few non-Skyfire Autobots Starscream could stand, so maybe that was where he came in. "You know him?"

"He doesn't even fish," Danny grumbled. "He just complains about everything. I still don't know why you let him show up." He said that last part to Hot Rod, who was sorting through fishing gear both human and Cybertronian-sized.

"Starscream's okay." Hot Rod held up one of the bigger, er, rods, eyeing it critically and hefting it in one hand the way you would with a sword. It seemed to pass whatever internal test he gave it, since he tossed a different one to Jazz. "It's best if you let him blow off all his steam, or it'll just build up."

"You know you're not Prime any more, right? You don't have to go all martyr over fragging _Starscream_ , is all I'm saying."

"So how does this work?" Jazz asked brightly, having had entirely enough conversation about someone who wasn't even here and didn't have anything to do with anything. It was sort of weird to find out that apparently Starscream sometimes got invited on Roddy's fishing trips, but the Seeker was otherwise pretty much joined at the hip to Skyfire.

"It's real easy once you get the hang of it!" Danny practically vibrated with excitement, all thoughts of Starscream gone at the prospect of teaching his second Autobot how to fish.

"You want to find a good spot first, that's the most important part or you'll never get anything if there's no fish! Now, you hold the rod like this-"

Jazz hadn’t expected to be any good at fishing, but that wasn’t exactly the point. Aside from the music, he’d come equipped with a carefully selected arsenal of stories and jokes, most of them either true or slightly embellished for an extra kick he thought his audience would appreciate. It was going well - so well that, when Hot Rod glanced up at the clear blue sky as though searching for something, Jazz didn’t think anything of it. When he murmured “frag” and moved to cup his hand in a shield over Danny - that was the first sign that things weren’t as perfect as they were a nanoklik ago.

The second was when the grass behind them exploded with two shots that sailed over their heads, showering their backs with tufts and clumps. Danny yelled. Jazz dropped his fishing rod and surged to his feet, all light-heartedness swept aside by the time he was upright.

From the direction of the shots came Cyclonus, who transformed mid-air and - ah. That made sense.

Galvatron dropped to the ground before Cyclonus finished transforming. When the jet’s twisting figure resolved into robot mode, he simply hovered behind his snarling master. No weapons were actively pointing at them, but that didn’t mean anything as Galvatron strode purposefully forwards. The war might barely even be called that from Cybertron's perspective, daily concerns being given to reconstruction and adjusting to a strange almost-peace, but Galvatron was still a crazy mech whose entire world-view had been torn from underneath him when suddenly there was no Rodimus Prime to yell threats and charge towards on the battlefield.

Hot Rod had enough time to put Danny back on the ground and make a ‘shoo’ motion; that was all the boy needed to scuttle across the short distance to Jazz, who got the message and scooped up the fragile human.

Galvatron didn’t seem to care. His optics were fixed on Hot Rod, but for now that huge, garishly orange fusion cannon wasn’t powering up. Jazz took a step back, shielded the squirming Danny with his hands (“Let me _see!_ ”) and kept an optic on Cyclonus while keeping the area scanned for any hints at all that Scourge or (please, no) Soundwave were lurking about. According to Blaster, Soundwave had been a busy little communications mech ingratiating himself to Galvatron’s side. Onslaught had mentioned him, too, as being seemingly the only non-Unicronian Decepticon who remained as loyal to his leader as before. Apparently entire reformats didn’t count in his mind.

As an experiment, Jazz sent a quick ping to Prowl plastered in as many ‘urgent’ and ‘ASAP’ signals as he could cram on there. There was no immediate response - some delay between Earth and Cybertron was expected, fare all - and then his attention was elsewhere.

"Rodimus!" Galvatron roared, barely five feet away from the significantly smaller mech. "Does it please you to act in this way? Do you welcome ignorance now you no longer have your bauble?"

There was silence, any wildlife - including the fish, probably - having fled before Galvatron had touched down. Jazz kept a firm hold of Daniel, and Hot Rod, to his credit, didn't step back at the clearly furious Decepticon's advance.

Bravery to the point of stupidity wasn't really the best thing to celebrate, though. After an expectant moment, Hot Rod gave his answer.

"I, ah...don't think I really follow what you're saying, Galvatron. What exactly-"

"Lies! Not once have you acknowledged me since you _debased_ yourself before a false Prime-"

Jazz gritted his teeth, but it was Danny whose furious "Hang on just a second!" went unnoticed.

"But I have proof, Rodimus Prime!" Galvatron's optics glinted in an unpleasant light. Not quite the furnaces of the Pit, but an indication that perhaps that could be arranged depending on what happened next. "Evidence of your mockery! And with it, I shall-"

"Galvatron!" Hot Rod didn't shout, but he had to say it quite loudly. Then, once he had the warlord's full attention - moreso than before, anyway - he said, slowly and deliberately:

"Listen, I really, really don't know what you're talking about. What proof is this?"

" _Records_." Galvatron enunciated the word in a way that made it obvious he was very pleased with himself. "Even Optimus Prime cannot argue with these logs I have saved, Rodimus! I can only imagine he will be most upset to hear of your dealings in this way. How many _opportunities_ , as you Autobots will see it-" the red gaze briefly flicked over to Jazz, bathing him in sheer contempt - "have you squandered?"

"What is he talking about?" Danny hissed once Galvatron's attention turned back to his real goal. Jazz gave as much of a shrug as his tense frame was prepared to give in the current situation. "I think he's just ranting," Jazz murmured. "He always goes straight for Roddy if he can, but we've not given him a chance to have a proper one-on-one since Optimus came back." Their attention turned back to the two mechs in question once there was silence. Jazz wished he could see Hot Rod's expression.

"These are....um. I can see that you sent them, but I really haven't seen these before. Maybe there was a glitch?" Hot Rod rushed the last part out before Galvatron could open his mouth and start ranting again. "I honestly swear, these are new to me. I promise I'll read them. Just give me some time to go over my answers."

Galvatron's gaze narrowed, but he remained silent save for his powerful ventilation system. That, combined with the tell-tale minute changes in expression, told Jazz they had switched to comms. At this close range, whatever had stopped Galvatron's messages getting through evidently wasn't here on Earth. Whatever Hot Rod was saying, it was working at placating the monstrous Decepticon, because eventually Galvatron nodded and took a step back.

"I shall hold you to that, Rodimus."

He made a single, beckoning gesture to Cyclonus. The spacejet nodded, his optics leaving Jazz for he first time since he'd arrived, and sort of...folded over Galvatron in his transformation. Jazz knew from Skyfire and the Aerialbots that it was a risky move for the couple of seconds it saved, that both partners had to be perfectly in sync in order to pull it off without crushing each other, but Cyclonus didn't even stop to check. He simply knew that all was as it should be, and blasted off into the sky without a nanoklik's delay once his transformation was complete.

Slowly, things returned to normal, now the whole world wasn't focused on Galvatron and what he might or might not do. Danny, still cupped in Jazz's hands, poked his head out between two black fingers that were each nearly half as big as he was.

"Was he seriously mad because you're not returning his calls?"

"Apparently." Hot Rod wasn't smiling when he replied to Danny's incredulous question. Instead, he shifted his gaze upwards. "I don't think it counts if I never knew I was getting them. Jazz?"

"Hey, don't look at me, I've got nothin' to do with internal messages," Jazz said hurriedly. "You've got some options, though, if it's been someone messing about." He didn't think either of them thought for a second it was a glitch. "Red Alert," he said, letting Danny hop back on to Hot Rod's outstretched hand. "But he never deletes anything, and he'd at least tell Prime, I reckon. Prowl-" he held up two fingers, indicating his second choice. "But he ain't this stupid, not by a long shot, and again, he'd tell Prime an' Prime would probably call a meeting over it. Third-"

Jazz stopped, spark sinking rapidly in his chest at the sudden realisation, but Hot Rod got there ahead of him.

"Blaster."

Jazz's whole figure slumped, tension bleeding out of his frame. Communications expert. Wonderful, stupid Blaster, what were you thinking? Jazz could almost hear it now: he was doing Roddy a favour, really. If Galvatron's got something to say he can say it to Prime. That slagging 'Con can't mean any good. What's the problem?

"Let's just get back." Jazz sighed. He might have a contender with Prowl for the worst first date ever recorded. Looking on the bright side, though, no-one had died and there were only two explosions.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Comedy option: Sunstreaker actually is Hot Rod's true bondmate.

"So tell me, Ratch, did you ask him like I said?"

Ratchet jerked back and whirled around, expression dissolving from surprise to annoyance just long enough for Jazz to get a picture of the former.

"I forgot you did that," Ratchet said, shaking his head. "I expect no-one told you how rude it is to sneak up on your fellow Autobots while I wasn't around?"

Jazz's easy grin coupled with his lazy shrug, although he did keep a wary optic on Ratchet's hands. He was cleaning something that looked like a stethoscope, probably too fragile to throw, but Ratchet had his limits and a near supernatural ability to land a headshot every time. In another life, his aim would have made him a very scary sniper. As it was, Jazz stayed just inside the door at a healthy enough distance and kept his field as innocent and non-threatening as possible.

"This ain't sneakin', this is just me. And I just gotta know, doc."

"Ask him...you mean Sunstreaker?" Ratchet's optics narrowed to a thin line of blue and scrutinised Jazz just long enough for the saboteur to get uncomfortable. Then he have a shrug of his own and dispelled the moment.

"As it happens, no, I didn't." Ratchet turned back to his medical tools. Even though it was probably First Aid's job, Ratchet still liked to clean his own equipment. "As long as no-one ends up here-" he jerked a thumb at the nearest empty med-berth - "I don't really care about your little relationship dramas."

"Ah." Jazz was glad Ratchet's back was turned. The medic was definitely sharp enough to notice the sag in his frame when he heard that. Well, then. No involvement from Ratchet. That was a good thing, right? He brightened up a little.

"So would you say you're impartial?" He asked, weighing up how dangerous it would be to take another step.

"To what?" Ratchet snapped and turned back again, setting off warning sirens in Jazz's head by holding a screwdriver this time. "Whether or not you're Hot Rod's true bondmate? It's not Sunstreaker who needs to be asked what he thinks of you, Jazz. What do you think you're playing at?" He pointed the screwdriver accusingly, almost wielding it like a tiny sword - and in that moment, Jazz fervently believed Ratchet could do just as much or more damage with it than ought to be possible.

"Okay. What do I think of me?" Jazz held both his hands up, the universal gesture of peace. _I am unarmed. Please don't kill me. I got stuff to do._ "I think I'm pretty good. What's that got to do with-"

"With the fact that, from all accounts, you basically had the luck of the draw the night he chose you? I am not a therapist, Jazz, but I want you to _think_ instead of running in circles and imagining rivalries. What is it that you actually want from this?"

Jazz's mouth opened. It closed again.

"I might have to think about that," he murmured.

This was not how he'd imagined the conversation going.

\---

So Ratchet ruled out Sunstreaker, or at least cowed Jazz enough to ignore him for now. That still left a very big, very purple, very dangerous mech trapped on a dead planet with sycophants and terrified minions for company. And Soundwave.

No wonder the Combaticons made a break for it.

The encounter with Galvatron was way too close for anyone's liking once Jazz and Hot Rod made their reports complete with eye-witness testimony from Daniel. Hot Rod made a formal complaint. It was just too bad Ultra Magnus was currently surveying the other side of the planet and wasn't around to witness Roddy voluntarily doing paperwork and following the proper channels instead of having a loud argument with Blaster in public.

Absolutely no-one was impressed when Blaster pointed out that Rodimus Prime, the one the missing messages were addressed to, technically no longer existed. Jazz was just glad Hot Rod hadn't been present in the Prime's office when Blaster threw up his last-ditch defensive effort. He was taking an extended stay in the brig right next to the Combaticons, although it was agreed (by all except Prowl, anyway) they could hardly stop the Cassettibots coming and going. Blaster took the full blame once he'd been backed into a corner, and the attitude of his little 'bots ranged from upset-but-understanding to a gloating I-told-you-so. While he was out of commission, Prowl and Red Alert were scouring the system relentlessly for any more surprises. Blaster insisted it was only Galvatron's messages to Hot Rod he'd tampered with, and when asked why his expression darkened as he said: _you'd have done the same._

Optimus gave a weary sigh. To Blaster's credit, he'd taken the Disappointment Speech like a true champion and allowed himself to be quietly lead out.

As for what was actually in those messages...well, that was really Roddy's private business, however unpleasant even the thought of Galvatron was. It wasn't actually illegal to converse with Decepticons as long as no secrets got out - there was a long list of key-words that would forward the message directly to Red Alert to check before it got sent out, although anything known to originate from Soundwave was automatically treated as suspicious. Blaster admitted that Galvatron's messages hadn't tripped any security beyond the fact that he was the head Decepticon and had an unhealthy obsession with the Autobot he was trying to contact.

All in all, not a pleasant disciplinary meeting.

Jazz wandered the halls, despondent. He had patrol in a joor and a half, but until then, he was his own mech. His usual go-to method of cheering up was currently languishing in the brig, and he really didn't feel like seeing Hot Rod right now either.

So what _did_ he want? Ratchet's words from earlier echoed loudly in his head, accusing tone and all. The fact that he'd even bothered after the first time surely meant he wanted _something_ with Roddy, right? Jazz squeezed his optics shut and flickered them online again, all while his visor steadily remained the same vacant, bland blue. _Bondmate_ , Ratchet said. Was that it? He tried to picture it: _Jazz and Hot Rod, true love forever._ It was vague and indistinct to the point where he could only distinguish the two mechs in his mind's eye by Roddy's colourful paintjob and the fact that the black-and-white mech standing next to him probably wasn't Prowl. Beyond that, it was almost blurry enough to give him a headache.

Not the most comforting sign. Jazz deleted the image, then went into Deleted Items and hesitated over 'yes' on 'Do you want to permanently remove this item?'

Maybe he was being hasty. He just wasn't feeling great between what happened with Galvatron and Blaster and then Ratchet going weird on him.

He created a folder called _Maybe_ and dragged the picture into it before hiding it away in a corner of his consciousness.


End file.
